Remembering Narnia
by love-ends-with-hope
Summary: “Father Christmas!” she exclaims. “Now, Peter. You can’t possibly believe that. A world inside a wardrobe, a faun, talking beavers. And now, Father Christmas! I was right all along, it was a dream.' Susan forgets Narnia, Peter tries to make her remember.


_Remembering Narnia_

_-Love-ends-with-hope_

_Disclaimer:_ Not mine, just fun to play with. Implied, tasteful incest. If that bothers you, I apologize. I'm honestly not sure where this came from, but here it is.

I watch her quietly as she stares out the window. The rain slides down, as though the glass itself is crying. She can feel me watching her, but doesn't look around. The fire cackles softly behind me, lending enough light to read by. The book lies abandoned on her lap.

"Do you remember?" she asks suddenly. Her voice is soft; I'm not sure she realizes she has spoken aloud. "Do you remember Narnia, Peter?"

"Of course I do," I assure her. She has to ask, only because she doesn't know that our time in Narnia is all I think about. Susan and I haven't spoken much since we came back through the wardrobe- it's just too painful. She has fallen back into silence, and I think she has forgotten me again.

"I don't," she says, after a time. She has fully awoken from her reverie. Her hair is mussed, her eyes bright and thoughtful. "I can't remember anything. I think I was there once, but I don't remember."

She looks me right in the eye, something she has done quite often recently; but this time, there is no anger, no reprimand in her eyes. Only confusion, and a little sorrow. Edmund, Lucy and I learned long ago that Susan didn't want to hear about Narnia, didn't want to be reminded of something she didn't remember. In the beginning, we tried to make her talk, tried to make her remember. That only made her more angry, more sullen. We gave up, and only spoke of our Kingdom amongst us three.

"Tell me." Her command is simple, her voice soft.

"It was more beautiful than anything you can imagine. When we first went through, it was winter. Bitter cold, but in a beautiful kind of way. We borrowed fur coats from the wardrobe. Mr. Tumnus, Lucy's friend, had been taken by the White Witch. You wanted to leave right away, and maybe we should have listened to you. But we followed Lucy, because she had to help Mr. Tumnus. Then we met the Beavers, who told us all about the White Witch and Aslan, then Father Christmas gave us gifts of weapons," I told her. I could see the disbelief in her eyes; she still wouldn't believe.

"Father Christmas!" she exclaims. "Now, Peter. You can't possibly believe that. A world inside a wardrobe, a faun, talking beavers. And now, Father Christmas! I was right all along, it was a dream. You always told me I was too practical, too logical. But really! You sound like Lucy after one of her games. She always thought they were real, too."

I am prepared for this. Susan's logical mind made her very cynical and fact based. Her heart, however, is less hardened. I move quickly and grab her hand. She resists, but I am determined; I will not lose this chance. I have been waiting months for this, and it isn't something I am going to waste. I hold onto her and wait for her to stop struggling.

"You asked me, and you're going to listen. We spent many years there, experienced many things, and you tell me you don't remember any of it? I don't believe you. I think you purposely forgot. You couldn't explain it away, so you didn't want to believe it. But it was real, you know it was. How can you not remember the sand on the beach, the soft wind that was never cold, the long dances that went on for days?"

She pulls away, and looks at me scornfully. "I don't know what you're talking about, Peter."

I stand up, and pace back and forth. She watches me, hesitant, maybe a little afraid.

"Dance with me."

"What?" she asks, looking startled. "You don't know how to dance. You are the least graceful person I know. Last time we danced together, I had to spend a week on the couch because of damages you rendered."

I shake my head and take her hand, pulling her gently to her feet and into my arms.

"No, my Susan. The last time we danced together, you wore a silver crown," I whisper into her hair. We move gracefully around the room in complete harmony, dancing to a song neither of us could hear. She tries to hold herself away from me, keeping her body stiff, but I pull her in. I hold her close to me, and feel her begin to give in. We stay like this for hours, neither wanting to give it up. We are silent; I can almost hear her thinking and don't wish to push her. Finally, she speaks.

"We did this in Narnia, didn't we?"

"Many times, " I answer, kissing the top of her head.

"I wore beautiful gowns," she states. "And you wore handsome tunics."

"Yes," I say, holding my breath, waiting. Was this it? Would she finally accept it? Believe it?

"I think I remember now."

"Do you?" I can't even explain the joy I felt hearing her say that; I have my sister back.

"Well, I don't remember things, more like feelings," she says into my shirt. She is looking down, her face buried in the rough folds of fabric.

"What kind of feelings?" I am relentless.

"I can feel cool water, warm breezes. I can hear laugher, and music I've never heard before. I can feel cool marble, soft, silk slippers. I can hear Edmund and Lucy playing. And you, Peter." I can hear a shy, reluctant smile in her voice.

"Me?" I ask, breathless.

"King Peter. My Peter. You held me many times, just like this. We watched sunrises together, we played in ocean. We sat quietly and had many heated debates. You were there when I needed you, you protected me. And you loved me." She looks into my eyes. She is vulnerable, as she hasn't been since our days in Narnia. Then she was open, and free. She has been so closed, so cold, since we returned. I haven't seen her like this in far too long.

"Yes, my Susan. I loved you. As you loved me."

"I think I did. What happened to us, Peter? Why did we change? You liked what we had, didn't you? It was nice," she looks more sure of herself; this she knows she remembers. And this is what she had blocked out. I wish I could have. I wish I could have forgotten what we had, but I couldn't. Why did I make her remember? She was fine without it, she didn't feel the pain of the memories every waking moment. Those were the memories I never shared with even Edmund and Lucy.

I am the one to break the spell, to step back.

"It isn't right, Susan. What we had, it isn't right." She looks at me as though I just slapped her. Her eyes are wide and hurt, and she steps back from me. There were tears she was resisting. Queen Susan would have been unafraid of tears; this Susan didn't cry. I'm not sure she knew how. I knew this conversation was about to get tougher.

"Not right? What wasn't right about it? We loved each other, what's wrong with that?"

"You know it wasn't that simple, Susan. It was fine in Narnia, but here in the real world, there are rules. Rules like not falling in love with your sister." She looked away from me then, turning to stare out the window as though the dreary expanse beyond could offer her something I couldn't. Or wouldn't.

"Susan, love, you must believe me. What we had was real, what we felt was real. But in this world, it can't be. It just can't. The hardest thing I do is wake up every morning, knowing what I lost when I lost you," I tell her, voice shaking with suppressed emotion. And I'm not sure she even hears me speak.

"Why did you make me remember?" she asks quietly. Her voice is cold like steel, only a slight tremor in her shoulders betrays her. "Why wouldn't you let me forget?"

"I didn't want to be alone." I am stung by her coldness, though I should have expected it. My voice is calm, emotionless as I give her everything of myself; I give her my flaws and her place in my heart in the same simple sentence.

"You wanted me to hurt as much as you do?" she asks, whirling on me. Her eyes flash dangerously, her voice rising. "You wanted me to feel this pain? You wanted to remember something that I can never have again? Are you that malicious, Peter? Are you that selfish? I can't believe I thought I loved you." Her words leave me breathless and shaken.

I can't stand to see her like this, can't stand to hear her accusations. I leave. I walk past her, avoiding her eyes, and walk up to my bedroom. I lie down and stare blankly at the ceiling. I don't see anything but the hurt I caused her, can't hear anything but my own heartbeat betraying me. Why did I make her remember? She was happier forgetting. No, I correct myself, she was empty. That is not the same as happy. She didn't feel anything, shut herself off. She was barely alive. I made her feel, made her remember, made her love again. How can she be angry at me for that? But, she's still not mine, I still can't have her. And I never will. Susan has changed so much over the years. First, during the war, she tried her hardest to keep our family together, did what she could to take care of everyone, even her older brother. Then, as a Queen of Narnia, she led with grace and intelligence. Her logic tempered my recklessness, and we made the perfect pair. She was passionate about those she served and was always available to anyone who had need of her, always warm, always caring. Then we came home, and she changed. I think in a way she died. Today was the first time I had seen even a glimpse of the beautiful woman she was. She has been living as only a shadow of her former self; by forgetting Narnia, she forgot who she was. But she is strong. She will remember, and she will live again.

I must have fallen asleep, as I awake to the sound of a timid knock.

"Peter?" calls Susan's voice. Looking at the clock, I see that it is nearly midnight.

"Su, you should be in bed," I say as she walks towards me.

"I couldn't sleep," she says softly. "And I remembered…" Her voice drifts off.

"Yes, Su, we used to do this, too." I seriously consider turning her away, but hearing her so scared and vulnerable, I know I won't. I lift the blanket and she slides in next to me. I wrap my arms around her and pull her in close. She lies her head on my pillow and sighs. We're both silent for a long time, and I wonder if she's fallen asleep.

"I'm sorry," she says, laying a hand on my arm. I hold her even tighter.

"I know."

"You would never hurt me, and you aren't selfish."

"I know you're sorry, Su," I tell her again.

"But I need to know why," she says, "why did you make me remember?"

"Because I wanted you to remember who you were. You were my beautiful queen, and you had forgotten about your kingdom. Had forgotten who you used to be, and I couldn't stand to watch you forget any longer."

"I love you, Peter."

"And I love you, Susan."

"What do we do? Now that I remember us, I don't want to lose it again."

"There's nothing we can do, love."

"Peter, there must be. You are brave, you are strong, and I will follow you anywhere. There must be something we can do." She is grasping for solutions where none are to be found.

"My beautiful queen, you know there is nothing. Narnia is closed to us, we can no longer go there. And this world will not accept what we have, it's not right."

"This can't be wrong." she insists, her voice catching.

"It can't be, but it is," I say quietly. She doesn't see that I want this even more than she does, I miss what we had more than she could understand. And yet, I'm the older sibling. I know it's wrong. I have to be the logical one here. In all fairness, I have been living with this sense of loss for nearly a year now, and she's had but hours to figure out how to deal with it.

"Kiss me," she says, startling me from my thoughts, "kiss me and tell me that it's wrong."

"I can't," I whisper hoarsely.

"Why?"

"Because if I kiss you now I will never be able to stop, and I will forget precisely why this is wrong."

"Are you afraid of me, Peter?" she asks.

"Yes," I tell her softly.

"I'm scared, too."

I can't answer that, don't know what to say to make her feel better.

"You shouldn't be here, Susan."

"I know," she says. She turns around to face me. There is a small smile on her lips as she leans in and kisses me once. She stands up and leaves.

Susan never again mentions Narnia, but sometimes I can feel her watching me, small smile lingering on her face. Though she doesn't speak of it again, I know she remembers. And that's enough for me.


End file.
